Alysa Mayer
Insect Envy

Avoiding glances, I don't envision a place of
solitude.
I don't dare, but sometimes I do see
a furry thing creep its way across carpet
and into its tiny dark place.
My arms betray me, and I pray.
I wish for six legs,
so dust becomes my stepping stones,
and I wait for no one
in hiding.

like how my fingers

I brushed
the years
off a yellowed page
five letters
I can not separate
like how my fingers
close in a fist

I studied
the spaces
among your inked words
the curves of my name
and "love"
like how my fingers
traced your outline

I turned
the sheets
like reading a palm
but their pages
numbly fluttered
like how my fingers
waved good-bye

Back to Issue 1, 1999